Unspoken
by Marie-Constance Quesnet
Summary: When Rue's confession goes unspoken, she's left behind as Princess Tutu vanishes for Siegfried. What happens to the people left behind?
1. Chapter 1

"Mytho, don't go! Eat my heart instead!" Rue shrieked, lungs burning as she ran. "I've always loved you! Ever since I was a child!"

The Raven's mouth snapped shut around her-and then she woke up, tear-stained and gasping. Rue waited until her dream no longer caught her around the stomach, biting her pillow.

What could have been had always haunted her, ever since Prince Siegfried had defeated the Monster Raven with Princesss Tutu's confession and not her own. Duck's struggle had inspired her instead, and it was with Rue's help she had the ability to share her hope with the town.

The fight was over. The Raven was defeated, Siegfried was gone, and Rue was left behind.

Fakir and Duck would pick her up for tea occasionally, and Autor would linger when she allowed him in her presence. And so with nothing left to her, she danced, perfectly en pointe, with glazed eyes and a detached, foggy mind, uncaring of how her body moved without her.


	2. Chapter 2

Watching her always hurt.

Autor knew that she was deaf to every key he struck on the piano in the salle, radiant though she was. Her beautiful arms and legs were conditioned to move, so move they did, snapping to each position of Coppelia's doll.

Fakir was no longer the lead danseur in the farcical ballet, having retired for the sake of Spinning. Some stranger placed his hands on her hips, her waist, her ribs; but none of it was as painful as the dazed look in her eyes. She'd checked out, and none of what made her Rue was there anymore.

The practice finished, and Autor leapt from the bench to greet her. "Rue," he said, and then drew back, so as not to scare her with his enthusiasm. "Would you care for a cup of tea?"

"Tea?" she murmured, and shook her head. "No. Thank you."

And with that, their practice - their ritual - was complete, until tomorrow.


	3. Chapter 3

"You look terrible," Fakir said, clutching his tea.

Rue jerked out of her thoughts on princes and ravens. "Excuse me?" she said, narrowing her eyes. "That was rude."

"Q-Quack!" Duck fumed at Fakir.

"Better," he grunted. "You haven't snapped at me in weeks."

"Fakir," Rue asked, biting her lower lip. "Do you ever..."

"Quack?" Duck said, nuzzling her elbow.

Rue swallowed, forcing herself to finish her question. "Do you ever regret how it all happened?"

Fakir regarded her for a long, long moment before petting Duck's head with his scarred hand. "No."

Rue looked away.


	4. Chapter 4

Rue's mirror wasn't the first thing to shatter, but it was the most satisfying.

It was that damned nightmare, she later decided, clutching the sharp remains of a vase Mytho had once declared that he'd liked. Really, she had no other reason to be this angry.

_"Mytho don't go! ... I've always loved you!"_

Her jaw hurt from clenching her teeth, and her fingers shook around the neck of the vase. She drew some quick breaths through her nose to steady herself, but couldn't shake that stupid dream.

"You left me," Rue said aloud, and started from the gravelly growl in her voice.

She sank down in the corner and started to cry.


	5. Chapter 5

Watching her was startling.

Autor's fingers nearly slipped on the piano keys as he traced every line of her fierce, determined dancing. And while she was always graceful - she was Rue, he knew she could be nothing else - her limbs were stiff, as if the movements pained her.

He waited as patiently as he could until the end of class, and thankfully she didn't leave.

Instead, she gripped the barre, setting her jaw. "Leave me alone, Autor."

"Rue," he said, holding his hands up as he approached.

"I said leave me alone," she snapped, red eyes blazing and glossy with tears. "Will you not listen for once in your life?"

Quietly, he offered his handkerchief.

And she fled, breaking their ritual and leaving him lost in thought.


	6. Chapter 6

Autor sipped his tea calmly, fighting a sneeze. The battle to bring Duck to their editing sessions had long been fought and lost.

"Now, on the next draft, do pay attention to commas, won't you?" The editor stacked Fakir's parchment and handed it to him, careful not to nudge the sleeping Duck.

Fakir grunted and sipped his tea.

"Has... Has Rue been any better?" Autor asked as lightly as he could.

Fakir's eyes snapped to him with the fierce glare he'd perfected back in school: calm and assessing. Autor would have felt he'd been found wanting, but he'd learned how to level a few baleful stares of his own.

Then, strangely enough, Fakir loosened. "You know she's still the same, if not worse," he said. "What are you going to do about it?"

Autor blinked rapidly, wide-eyed. "What am I...?"

"You heard what I said."

"Well, it's not my place is it?" Autor said, trying to keep the festering bitterness from creeping into his tone. He sighed. "Fakir I'm not - "

"Would you please be quiet?" Fakir said, smiling that damned, smug smile, infuriating no matter how brief it was. "We're the only four that remember. We're the only ones she has."

"I'm well aware of that," Autor said, staring at his tea. "But she told me to leave her alone."

Fakir frowned. "All right," he said. "Then leave her alone."

"But you just said - "

Fakir held up his hands. "Use your best judgment."

Autor drained his cup, thinking dark thoughts on how unhelpful Fakir could be.


	7. Chapter 7

Trembling, Rue rolled over on her back, waiting for the dregs of the nightmare to leave her. If only she'd confessed, then things would have been so different. If only she'd been bold enough, she wouldn't be stuck in Goldkrone, left behind.

And, most horrifying, she'd started to forget things about the Mytho she loved. The dancing was ingrained in her bones, but the little things - the way he said, "I love you," or the curve of one of his rare smiles - were dissolving in her memory.

She'd draw him, but she was never much of an artist. And writing wasn't one of her skills, either - nor did she want anything to do with Writing.

There was nothing she could do but dance, a desperate pa de duex without a partner, just as Princess Tutu had shown her how to do so long ago.


	8. Chapter 8

Autor had never liked heights, but he did say he'd die for her.

The rain slicked his steps as he clung to the roof tiles, crawling on top of the girls' dorm where Rue had perched herself. He carefully stepped up behind her and stripped himself of his blazer, dropping it over her head.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, and the snap in her voice faltered as she looked out from the warm jacket.

"You're getting cold," he pointed out. "My uniform is waterproof."

"That part of it isn't," she said, waving a hand at his white shirt, now sticking to his skin.

"Rue," he said quietly, shivering. "Are you going to come down?"

"No," she said.

They sat there for a long time.

The next day, Autor hated himself. He had a cold, and everyone hates the one in the library who perpetually sniffs. All he wanted to do was get his work done, and here he was, dripping snot all over everything.

Rue tilted her chin at him as she passed, clutching her books to her chest. A smug smile and a soft, "hm!" was all the acknowledgement he needed.


	9. Chapter 9

"Rue," Fakir said, setting his tea down. Rue couldn't help but think he sounded weary.

"It's just Autor," Rue began, waving a hand. "I just - I just don't know..."

Fakir leaned forward to take her hands, a looming storm. "What," he asked, low, and quiet among Duck's panicked quacking, "has he done?"

Rue squeaked. "He's always there."

"Oh," Fakir grunted, releasing her. "Do you want me to talk to him?"

Rue squirmed. "No," she said, unsure as to why she _wouldn't_ want Fakir to talk to him.

"What do you want me to do, Rue?"

"Nothing," she said, frowning as Duck waddled over.

"Then why bring him up?" Fakir asked, tilting his head.

"I.. I don't know," she said, straightening her shoulders. "You didn't have to jump on hi... the topic like that."

Fakir picked up his teacup and leaned back, studying her. "Do you not want him around?"

Duck nudged her, and Rue busied herself in petting her feathers to avoid that gaze.


	10. Chapter 10

It had been over a year since Siegfried chose Tutu as his princess, and still Rue insisted on playing her game.

"Autor," she'd call, heedless to the way his pulse jumped or his cheeks colored, "tell me you love me."

He'd lick his lips, drinking in the sight of the raven-haired beauty before him. "I love you, Rue."

She'd smile at him, perhaps pat him on the shoulder, and walk away.

"Autor?" she asked the next day. "Tell me you love me."

Autor turned to her, catching her hands. He stepped close enough to curl his breath in her ear, and brought her knuckles to his lips.

"Rue," he rasped softly, "why do you do this to me? I can't live without loving you."

"Stop," she whispered, dipping her head to hide from his searching gaze. "Stop it! Don't look at me."

Autor squeezed her fingers and released her hands, stepping back. "I love you," he said, pressing his hand to his heart. "I love you. If there's another way you want to hear it-"

But she ran.

"Autor," she called quietly the next day, keeping her gaze solidly on his shoes. "Tell me you love me."

"I love you, Rue."

"Good."


	11. Chapter 11

She avoided him for a few days. And a few days after that.

And it was only after a few days following _that_ did she realize that he may have been avoiding her in turn.

Which - and wasn't this a shock - annoyed her in just the right way. Rue wasn't quite sure what to do with the feeling, having never had anything like it before. Oh, she'd been annoyed with Fakir, back when they were fighting over Mytho, but this was different.

But it wasn't abject horror at a nightmare or the numbness of despair, so she clung to this annoyance, let it build until it manifested in her something she did recognize: her old shields.

And so she tracked him down.

"I've noticed that you are avoiding me," she said primly, once she'd found him at his usual desk.

"Would you please be quiet?" he asked, keeping his gaze to his books. "We are in a library."

Stunned, Rue turned from him to collect herself. "Well," she said softly, shields cracking, "then finding me a book shouldn't be difficult."

Autor lit up with a smile - and Rue looked away.


	12. Chapter 12

"She," Autor wrote, and tapped his quill against his lips. Most students had moved on to pens when the Story ended, but he still preferred the seven-to-ten ratio of blue-to-black ink in his well, still preferred the swan's feather which had been in the sea.

She. The word - the lonely, elegant word - stared him in the face, mocking his inability to elaborate, as she'd so often done.

"Tell me you love me," she'd said, and he had.

She, the prima ballerina whose courage helped to save Goldkrone, whose delicate lines and steps are ingrained in her, body and soul.

She, the unearthly beautiful raven child whose pitch-black hair and crimson eyes caught him around the middle every time.

She, the girl who'd smiled just sixteen times in the last year, who'd fled from him four times, and who'd avoided his gaze more times than he cared to count.

She, the very much human, but very much broken, Rue.


	13. Chapter 13

Autor was and always had been a creature of habit, but he adopted his and Rue's routine with pleasure. She'd come track him down at the library - he never had to shush her after that first time - and she'd turn in the week's book, using him as her unofficial librarian. He'd recommend another, she'd take it without allowing his fingers to brush hers, and thus the cycle continued.

Until one week, she didn't show.

He tried to go through his classes without worrying and made it until three pm before he was seriously considering doing something so gauche as chucking a rock at her window.

Unfortunately, the decision was made for him when he overheard one of Duck's former friends - the blonde one - gush about sick Rue was.

A few minutes later, he was opening her door, carrying a tray of tea, a book, and a flushed face.

"How did you get here?" she croaked, trying and failing to sit up.

He set the tea and the book down on the table and adjusted his glasses. "I hope you know how many school rules I've broken by risking this."

Rue glared at him. She raised a shaky hand, and then seemed to give up, laying back and closing her eyes.

Autor tried not to panic. "Hey," he said, swallowing. "I'm sorry for invading your privacy. I just wanted to make sure you were all right."

Rue breathed through her nose, shivering. "I'm fine," she said, teeth chattering.

The boy resisted the urge to tell her she wasn't. He pinched the bridge of his nose instead. "You probably have a fever," he murmured. "Can I check?"

Rue huffed, still shivering. Autor carefully placed the back of his hand on her forehead and winced. "Here, let me get a rag for you."

Luckily, Rue had a modest bathroom in her suite, which Autor both envied and reflected on how it must have been one of the ways she stayed inside for weeks at the beginning.

He dampened a rag and poured her a glass of water, laying the former across her head and encouraging her to drink the latter - holding it to her lips when they both found she couldn't sit up.

Eventually, he pulled out the book and sat down. "Chapter one," he said, and again Rue glared at him. "What? I'm just going to read until you fall asleep."

She sighed, rasping, "This is humiliating."

"I'm sorry," Autor said. "But I didn't want you to be alone."

"What about what I want?" Rue snapped.

Autor tilted his head and shut the book, resting his elbows on his knees. "What _do _you want, Rue?" he asked quietly. "Tell me to leave, and I'll leave this time. Tell me to stay and I'll stay."

With fever-bright eyes and flushed cheeks, Rue turned away from him to burrow in the covers. She shivered, and sniffed, and Autor was tempted to throw his book against the wall.

"Chapter one," Autor read, watching her. "Once upon a time, there was a miller and his daughter..."

Once she slept fitfully, he left the book behind for next week.


	14. Chapter 14

"You didn't have to give me a gift, you know," Rue said to Autor, ignoring the soft buzz of students in the library all around them.

"Mm," he said, shutting his book. "I hope you'll find it useful."

Clutching the delicate, gold foil bookmark he'd given her, Rue sat down at the table. He finally looked up. "Why do you do all of this?" she asked. "Why do you torture yourself over me?"

"If this were torture," Autor said evenly, adjusting his glasses, "I wouldn't do it."

"That doesn't exactly answer my question," she pointed out.

"I can't tell you," he said. "I already have, and you've never yet believed me."

Rue popped her nose in the air. "You're ridiculous."

"Sometimes," he admitted wearily, drawing her attention back.

And it was then that Rue really looked at him, studied him. His hands were thin and slightly shaking; his cheeks were pale, and he dipped his head as if he were about to fall asleep at the desk.

"When is the last time you've eaten?" she asked, frowning.

"Hm?" he asked, and she noticed then how scratchy his voice was from reading aloud so many days when she was sick. "I don't remember."

"Autor," she said, and she could see him light up with pleasure at the sound of his name. _You can't do this to yourself_. "Take me to lunch, would you?"

"Of course," he said, and his smile crinkled the dark circles under his eyes. "I'd be happy to."

Luckily, Ebine's was deserted at that time of the afternoon, so Autor and Rue were able to secure a table with ease.

_This is not a date_, Rue told herself. _This is lunch with a... Well, is he my friend?_

"So," Autor started, handing her a menu. He paused, searching for something to say. "Have you ever been here before?"

"You don't have to make conversation," Rue said, finding herself with nothing to say either.

"All right," Autor said, looking almost relieved. "Are we to do this frequently, or is it just the once?"

Rue glared at him, and snapped her menu open. _As often as you're foolish enough to neglect yourself._

"What," Autor said, laying his menu down, "did I do now?"

"You know very well what," she said, embracing that old irritation she felt most frequently around Autor, arguing over books.

"No, I don't," he said, raising his hands, palms out, as if to shield himself. "You have to tell me-what have I done?"

Rue exploded, holding her tears in check-but just barely. "You're not sleeping," she said, slapping her menu down. "You're not eating. Why aren't you taking care of yourself?"

Autor blinked at her. "You're worried about me? You?"

Rue drew back, stricken. "Am I not allowed?"

The pale boy shook his head. "No, it's not that, it's just unexpected." He took her hand, and to her surprise, she let him. "Are you okay?"

"Don't ask that of me," she said, turning her head.

"All right," he said, releasing her fingers. "I won't."

They ordered their food and ate in blessed silence. Autor offered his arm on the way back to the girl's dormitories, and Rue refused.

"Thank you," he said, "for letting me take you out."

"Yes," she responded automatically, and took a deep, deep breath. "Autor, I..."

He turned to her, rapt and waiting.

"Never mind. Thank you for lunch."

"Anytime," he said softly.


End file.
